Is it treason to speak the facts?
by YLJedi
Summary: Five times Bradford insulted or antagonized Ben and one time he didn't.
1. Chapter 1

1.

New Jersey. Bradford wrinkled his nose – he was ready to put this colony behind him. Dismounting, he made his way through the camp to the war council tent, where General Lee was explaining the strategic placements for the next engagement to the other officers. The general looked up when Bradford entered.

"Have they arrived yet?"

William shook his head. "No, sir. Scouts haven't seen them either."

Lee slapped a hand on the table. "I told Scott I needed that unit." The general huffed as he bent to readjust the pieces on the maps. "He probably sent them to Washington instead," he groused as he threw the offending piece – obviously representing Scott's dragoons – to the ground.

Bradford considered picking the token up; after all, the unit could just be delayed, but Lee's comment intrigued him. "He'd trust his men to Washington? Even after he lost us New York?" Bradford certainly wouldn't.

Lee snorted and smoothed down his wig. Bradford longed to tell him to dispense with the rather ugly thing, but that was not something he could tell his superior officer. William admired many things about his general – his military experience, his intellect, wit, and his frankness that sometimes bordered on rudeness – but his vanity was not one of them. Well, even generals had to have one flaw, he supposed.

"You don't know Scott," Lee answered him. "He's a jealous, cantankerous, and sniping fool, but," Lee held up a hand for emphasis, "he lives for rules and traditions. As long as Congress says Washington is commander-in-chief then Scott will follow that man blindly."

But not Lee, Bradford knew. Lee's methods and strategies, which he knew some considered to be too cautious, at least wouldn't get men killed, like Washington's bold and foolhardy plans. And Bradford was in this for the victory not the glory.

The clatter of hooves announced the messenger's presence before the tent flap was pushed aside and the rider handed off his letter. A sorrowful frown crossed Lee's features as he scanned the missive.

"It seems Scott did send us his dragoon unit. But they unfortunately ran into the Queen's Rangers." There was a murmur around the tent. Lee handed the letter to his aide. "Send my condolences to the general."

Bradford sighed in frustration at the setback. He bent over the maps, trying to determine the best way to adjust their plans at this information.

Lee moved off to the side to pour himself a drink. "I may disagree with Scott, but to have an entire unit wiped out by nothing more than bad luck. Not even in a real battle…" he shook his head.

The aide had continued reading the letter. "It looks like one of them survived, sir." Lee turned back around in surprise. The aide continued on, "The captain was able to escape and returned to camp."

"He survived Robert Rogers?" one of the lieutenants asked, his voice filled with wonder.

Survived Rogers? Not likely. Bradford set him straight. "More likely he turned and ran at the first shot."

"Indeed," Lee snorted as he left the tent. Bradford wondered at the rather abrupt departure.

The aide made a sound of protest. Bradford walked over, and the man showed him the contents. Bradford read. General Scott had written a quietly glowing report of his man's escape.

Bradford shrugged. "This Captain Tallmadge can certainly weave a tale."


	2. Chapter 2

2.

For the first time in a long time Bradford was satisfied with his commander-in-chief. Two victories – finally. Perhaps Lee had been wrong and Washington could learn from his mistakes.

Laughing, he joined the men in their spirited cheering. For one night he was going to forget about the fate of his general and enjoy America's victory. It had been hard-fought. He walked through the headquarters of Morristown glad-handing the other officers, nursing his mug of ale.

But finally, his bout of merriment passed, and he retreated from the crowded tables. Reaching a deserted room, he sighed, leaning for a moment against the mantle above the roaring fire, enjoying the warmth and the solitude.

A glance into a seemingly empty side room made him pause. Not moving from his position, he studied the young man standing stiff at attention, all alone in the room. Unlike Bradford, who had shed his military coat for this night, the young captain was in full dress uniform, sword buckled around his waist, and, Bradford noted, his helmet clutched at his side. A dragoon then.

"Can I help you?" he called to the captain.

Dark, somber eyes made contact with him. "I was told to report here, sir."

An odd order during all this merriment. Curiosity piqued, Bradford strode over and leaned against the doorjamb. The captain stayed at attention, but his eyes followed him as Bradford moved closer.

"Upon whose orders?"

The captain gave a slight shrug. "When I arrived in camp, an officer just told me to report here."

Bradford finally entered fully into the room, his eyes automatically scanning the contents laid out upon the desk. "For what purpose?"

The dragoon paused a moment before answering. "He didn't say."

Bradford looked up at that, a quiet smirk pulling at his lips at that evasion. He settled back against the writing table. "Yeah, but I think you know."

The young dragoon's jaw tightened, and his eyes grew even more hooded.

Bradford held out his hand, softening his smirk as he did so. "William Bradford."

The captain finally relaxed a fraction from his stiff posture. Taking a small step forward he shook the proffered hand. "Benjamin Tallmadge."

Hmm. That was interesting. Bradford studied the man who was the subject of so much recent gossip. The man who had survived Rogers, who had supposedly murdered a British officer, and had been mutinied upon by his men.

Bradford set his drink down. "Second Dragoons?"

Surprise flitted across Tallmadge's eyes at the recognition. He nodded.

"I understand you're to be court-martialed," he continued conversationally. "Don't look so surprised, Tallmadge, information travels fast. And rumors twice as swift as fact." He took another, long moment to study the captain, who had stiffened at his words. "What's the exact charge?"

The brown eyes met his. "There are several," the captain answered rather archly.

One of which was his attitude, no doubt. "Sounds like you're a busy boy," Bradford said in amusement. "Tell me, did your men really mutiny on you?"

Tallmadge's fingers tightened on his helmet. "I intend to wait to discuss that at the court-martial," he replied, keeping his eyes on the wall and his voice level.

Bradford took a sip of his drink, enjoying the other's discomfort. "You know, Washington's hanging a man tomorrow."

The dark eyes darted to his face at that. Bradford just lifted an eyebrow. Tallmadge said nothing in response. He'd startled the boy, though, with that news, and that was enough for him.

His game over, Bradford stood. "Well, best of luck to you, Tallmadge."

"Thank you, sir." The captain's voice was even, pointedly ignoring Bradford's sarcasm.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

He saw Tallmadge a few days later, and his eyebrows rose when he took in the additional epaulet. So, a court-martial had made him a major. That was unexpected.

The newly minted major didn't interact much with the other officers. He spent most of his days holed up in Washington's headquarters or talking animatedly with the portly civilian that had been put in charge of Washington's clerical staff.

Bradford was busy leading his own unit, so the two of them had very little interaction. Whenever they did have to engage with each other, Tallmadge was very professional, as was Bradford, but it amused William to see that the other man harbored a dislike for him from that night. And he felt no desire to change it.

And so he was surprised one evening when Tallmadge passed him by and favored him with a smile. "Major Bradford," he greeted in a tone that was almost…giddy.

Bradford watched him stride off before he turned to the soldiers gathered around the fire. "I don't think I've ever seen Major Tallmadge smile before."

A captain glanced over. "Oh, his brother's about to be released from the _Jersey_."

"The _Jersey_?"

The captain nodded. "Been there about six months. Rotten luck, got captured during the retreat from New York."

Bradford considered that. "One brother gets captured, the other gets all his men killed," he mused. "Bad luck seems to be a family trait, then."


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Bradford took a moment to observe Tallmadge talking with the civilian Sackett. They were outside the mansion, next to their normal fire pit. Tallmadge had returned from his ma and pa rescue mission a few days prior. And, just as before, here he was, having received not a smidgen of discipline. Washington's all-too-obvious favoritism rankled.

Bradford joined them. "Well, I'm surprised, Tallmadge. Thought you'd be a colonel by now."

Tallmadge had stopped his conversation as soon as Bradford began talking. Now, he looked up at the taller man with a puzzled, but disdainful glance. "Why, exactly?"

"Well, you disobeyed General Scott and were promoted to major, and now that you've disobeyed Washington…"

The civilian gave a little snort of amusement, and both Bradford's and Tallmadge's eyes flew to him. The man held up a hand in apology at Tallmadge's glare, but his eyes still crinkled in mirth.

Bradford continued on, knowing that Tallmadge wouldn't say anything in reply; the man never did. "You've got new orders. You and your detachment are to report to General Sullivan in Middlebrook." Bradford handed over the official orders and map. "Safe travels, Tallmadge," he said in farewell, giving him a congenial slap on the shoulder, "I hope you manage to make it to at least one rendezvous in this war."

He could feel the heat of Tallmadge's glare as he walked off. The man Sackett waited until he was several yards away, but Bradford was still able to hear the civilian's remark to Tallmadge. "It's nice to see you're making friends."


	5. Chapter 5

5.

Bradford was seated where he usually was, on Lee's left. Tallmadge, on the other side, was further down in the center. In all fairness, it wasn't an indication of Washington's decreasing regard for Tallmadge (though that was true). He didn't know whether it was Washington's doing or Tallmadge's, but the young major changed his place at the table often. Which turned out to be quite fortunate for him, as it disguised Washington's dissatisfaction with the disgraced major.

And Bradford was going to have some fun with it.

He glanced down the table. "I hear congratulations are in order, Tallmadge."

Tallmadge looked up from his dinner, unable to mask his surprise at being addressed. The others quieted down in politeness at his turning of the conversation.

Bradford elaborated. "You're Arnold's new aide-de-camp."

Tallmadge stiffened, but it was Washington's reaction Bradford was waiting for. The general was still deep in a quiet discussion with the French officer, and at Bradford's words the man didn't deign to even glance over. But Bradford watched the general go still for a long, long moment.

Tallmadge, on the other hand, began to move. Reaching casually for his wine glass, he turned to Bradford. "No," he said, the perfect amount of surprise and confusion coloring his voice, "I'm not."

"Really?" Bradford responded with his own polite bewilderment. "I heard he'd offered you the position."

"No, he hasn't," Tallmadge repeated. "And I doubt that he would."

"My mistake, then."

Tallmadge inclined his head in acceptance of the apology. The conversations picked up around them, and Tallmadge returned his attention to his meal.

Bradford waited. Tallmadge kept his eyes averted, still and silent. But finally, almost as if it was against his will, he risked a glance down the table at Washington. The general almost certainly felt the major's gaze, but Washington refused to look back. Tallmadge's eyes dropped back to the table.

Bradford hid a grin as he took a sip of wine.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

Bradford trudged through the camp, casting a baleful eye over the men hacking away with their axes. Valley Forge was the most miserable place he'd ever experienced. As an officer, he had it better than the enlisted men, who were crammed together into their quarters. He, on the other hand, only had to share his hut with five other officers. But, considering the identity of one of the other men, sometimes Bradford considered resigning his commission and roughing it with the rank and file.

But right now, Bradford was just grateful for the shelter as he entered his hut and quickly shut the door against the biting wind. Turning, he noted the sole other occupant.

Tallmadge was sitting at the only table in their cramped room. He wasn't scribbling furiously away, as he usually was. Instead he seemed to be staring off, his shoulders slumped, absently twisting a piece of cloth around his hands. Finally processing Bradford's entrance, he belatedly straightened and turned his face away.

Bradford didn't say anything, though. He wasn't that heartless. Tallmadge's whaling friend wasn't in camp, and now… now Tallmadge was alone.

Taking off his coat, he sat down on his cot. He fiddled with his boots, not knowing what to say. He normally prodded Tallmadge or he ignored him; this was foreign to him.

"I'm sorry," he finally said with a sigh. "Sackett seemed-"

"Don't." Tallmadge cut him off with that one word, quiet but biting, and Bradford fell silent.

Tallmadge wiped a hand over his face then stood up abruptly. "I need to – go on patrol," he murmured.

Bradford watched him go, a part of him wishing he felt up to gloating. Tallmadge had put his trust in the wrong general, after all. But as his gaze turned to the blood-soaked cloth still lying on the table, all Bradford felt was weary.


End file.
